The Dog & a hat
by Rubinia
Summary: Nineteenth century, England, London. A dog is waiting at shop's door for his master coming out. Yet under some circumstances it will never happen. The dog is faithful and patient. The shopkeeper is displeased. Time passes and one day there occures a complication.


Ordinary day in London. Busy pedestrants, ragged errant-boys, click-clack of horseshoes while carts troll along streets. Old ornamented clock, the pride of small church, announced midday. Group of people watched the show as craftly made small figures bet the silver bell twelve times. Sound merrily drifted through smoke-in-taste air.

Wall to wall with the church a two storey brick-house of abandoned look stood. If not for newly repainted stick with the meaningful pattern of red and white stripes one would honestly doubt there is any service being offered. Just by the front doors of said building a big, black dog rested. Magnificiant posture and dim gleam of its fur indicated that master of the beast treated it well.

One unusual thing was not easy to spot. Half hidden in shade, near dog's paws a man's hat lied top side down right on the pavement. It was peculiar in widespan and, even more, in the colour of damp red. The dog with the hat behaved well. Fine-bred beast payed no interest in attention and even caressing attempts of pedestrants. There was something incredibely inteligent in its eyes. Every man was free to pass by, yet not to touch. As soon as anyone expressed too familiar attitude to dog's liking, a gentle showing of strong teeth was enough to change man's mind. The dog held a thread of vibrant dignity in it.

Doors under striped stick opened a little both cautiously and slowly. Rough hand clad in white crumpled sleeve emerged and a sizeable piece of meat was thrown in general direction of great black dog resting. Feeder of the animal closed the door then whithout showing himself. Juicy steak was devoured in one snap. Content dog licked its mouth, leaving a trace of white powder on black fur.

Since solid doors separated him from street and people's ears, the generous shopkeeper spoke freely in privacy of badly lightened room. Sight of man's dark eyes rested on door's surface as if in intention to see through wood.

"I hate dogs. They have good nose. Sniff around. I hate 'em." he muttered undertone.  
"Oh, so glad you go to hell. Since unwilling to go elsewhere..." the man gave short laugh full of relieve.

"That's where he came from." mused the voice from behind.

Poorly combed barber frowned.

"And where I will as well." he said in lowered voice.  
"Yes, if there is a shred of truth in old clercks' blabbing. Fat wealthy bastards, all of them." words followed with passion of flamy hatred.  
Ill-will towards church men man turned to look at who was supposed to be dog's master.  
"Well dear sir. As I have failed to shave you off, perhaps you consider my offer of hairdressing? I'm not a barber for nothing." He rubbed hands compulsively.

The customer raised from shaving-chair which made a weird metalic noise, then he straightened to considerable height of unusually tall man. His cheecks were entirely free from facial hair, his head hair was dark and long.

"You're persistant aren't you?" the client asked while adjusting garment with his slender fingers.  
"Soul of merchandise." The customer looked keenly in the mirror, wide but stained, as he neatly rearranged the shape of tie. Cloth was dyed in bright red.

"I admit. I beg you pardon sir but I suddenly felt unwell... I am afraid my eyes mislead me." said the barber.

Razor master kept a sharp eye at mirror surface. Painful look at his face, quite accurate for a witness of friend's betreyal. Glass was covered with red, dense blood splashed there not so long time ago. Amount of said liquid was significient. Numerous red damp patches made an interesting pattern of stripes. Too much for accidental shave-cut. Clearly too much.

The customer not only seemed to unnotice any peculiarity, but he was ignored by the mirror as well which refused to display his features. He had no image in the mirror. Glossy covering of vital liquid was not so wide spreaded to cover the fact.

Mortified barber moaned.

"I understand now." he croacked through narrowed throat.

The customer looked straight at the shopkeeper above the shoulder.

"Good." he approved with low care. Then, presumably content with his outfit, he turned and made a few steps towards the door and the master of the place.

Shortened distance allowed the barber to see ugly, wide wound on the customer's neck. Razor handler had seen numerous cuts of this type. He secretly kept pride on unwavering hand in sliceing through throats. Barber went paler than usual.

"W-would you mind a towel, sir?" asked the razor master. Desperation was easly distinguishable in his voice.

The other gave a low laugh.

"No need, Mr Todd. You accidentaly was in greater service to me, as you have spared me a trouble of travel overseas in seek of the loss. Now I reclaim my dog. Acknowledge my gratitude." the unusual client slowly smiled. Some teeth were sharper and longer than other.  
"Houndy! Heel!" he commanded. Single eager bark answered him from behind the front door.

Tall man merged with the emptiness of the room. Though little words I find to say it, he melted with the air and disappeared. The barber pressed his back to solid wooden doors, breathing heavily, his heart galloping. Rare sight! Never before such a thing occured as a polished-off customer coming back after having throat cut and body thrown down the chimney hidden underneth the shaving chair. As the barber somewhat regained composture, he moved to clean up the bloody stains on mirror and fine silver razor blades.


End file.
